Whether we want to acknowledge it or not, we’re all getting older. You out there reading this screen—you're getting older, too.

My memory is still keen enough to recall a restaurant reckoning. It was that moment I had to personally acknowledge aging.

One evening several years ago after I had enjoyed a meal, I questioned the server about a bill. “This can't be right. It's a bit short. I had salmon. The menu listed the price at—”

“Sir,” the lady interrupted, “I gave you the senior discount.” (I've noticed when someone addresses me as “sir,” I'm being regarded as old.)

Imagine that! I hadn't told her my age. Yet, she knew. Maybe it was my hair. Maybe it was my slow amble as she led me to the table, or my slump as I slid into the chair. Maybe it was the style of my comfortable shoes.

Whatever, she knew. So, I smiled, thanked her, and paid my bill. No more denying it. I had entered the age of senior citizens, old codgers, golden agers, and the elderly. I decided I might as well live with that and whatever was to follow.

What else could I do?

Since that initial moment of awareness, “whatever” has certainly followed.

Each birthday has brought more appointments to health care providers, more prescriptions, and more maintenance. Some of the “whatever” might have been stalled by a few years if I had made better healthful provisions before entering this stage.

In the days of my youth, I had memorized Ecclesiastes 12, yet I didn't fully understand the verses until after that salmon meal. Later, with spectacles on my nose, I reread Shakespeare's passage concerning the seven ages of man in “As You Like It.” That one, too, provided me with greater understanding later in life.

Another dining experience—this one in China a few years ago—again had my age in question. There were nine or ten at the table where we were waiting for our order.

A young server approached carrying dishes and almost froze as she surveyed our group. “Is there a problem,” I politely asked.

Timidly, she replied, “The custom in our culture is to serve the oldest first.” She glanced from me to another man across the table.

We were the obvious choices. I knew how old I was, but I didn't know my friend's age.

“Oh, he's older than me. By all means, serve him first.”

I smiled, she smiled, even the other old man smiled, and she served him first. As I continued traveling in China, I observed other demonstrations how the elderly were treasured there. Each notice produced another smile.

Of course, older folks are often given special treatment in America, as well.

Just last week a young man in a Glasgow parking lot kindly volunteered to help an older man who sometimes suffers with a bad back. It was raining and the old feller was struggling to load a heavy item into a vehicle.

The young man walked over and respectfully said, “Sir, let me do that for you.” (See what I mean—he began with “Sir”). His help was most appreciated. I know this to be a fact because I was that old feller in the rain.

The young man reminded me of my two grandsons. I've witnessed them offering needed assistance when they've sometimes encountered older folks. Good guys, they are. I'm proud of 'em.

My two grandsons are gettin’ older. One will be graduating in a few days from a university, and other from a high school. Along with a gift for each, I plan to also offer a few tidbits of advice.

I'm going to refer them to what wise old Solomon was alluding to in Ecclesiastes 12. I'm going to caution them to remember their creator and understand what to expect as they continue through their years on earth.

I want them to be aware of what the old Bard had to say about the seven ages of man so they can be ready to deal with those expectations.

This old man is going to stress the importance of monitoring and maintaining one's health before their time comes to receive a restaurant discount. Hopefully, my grandsons will take care of their backs earlier and not need assistance in the rain like their old granddaddy.